


Dog Teeth

by willowoftheriver



Category: JUDGE EYES: 死神の遺言 | Judgment
Genre: Alpha Kuroiwa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Breathplay, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Omega Ayabe, Rape, Violent Sex, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willowoftheriver/pseuds/willowoftheriver
Summary: Kuroiwa's decided he'd rather have Ayabe for himself than use him as a scapegoat.
Relationships: Ayabe Kazuya/Kuroiwa Mitsuru
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Dog Teeth

It’s true that alphas have a better sense of smell than omegas.

However, at the same time, it can’t be denied—has actually been scientifically proven—that omegas have a sense of smell that exceeds betas, just enough to scent alpha pheromones and a few other things.

Blood. All Ayabe can smell is blood.

It overrides the scent of everything else, like Kuroiwa’s cum and musk and Ayabe’s vomit, and even the oily tang of his fear, seeping out of every gland in his skin. Omega fear pheromones are supposed to be unappealing to alphas on some instinctual level, but Kuroiwa seems to just be fucking him harder the more terrified he becomes, the more he cries.

Kuroiwa finally knots inside of him and Ayabe’s dry save for the blood and cum that was already there from the time before, and the one before that, and one before that, but that’s not where it’s really _gushing_ , hot and fast (so worryingly fast).

No alpha has ever bitten Ayabe’s bonding gland before, but he knows very well it’s not supposed to be like this—not agonizing like nothing he’s ever felt, with a kind of pain that literally whited out his vision for a while and left his higher functions inoperable in a way that would’ve been good, would’ve at least let him forget he was still lying under Kuroiwa, if his nerve endings hadn’t all been so _raw_.

When his vision had faded back in, Kuroiwa was still licking at the wound he’d made, the tip of his tongue tracing split edges of skin before poking lower, and that was when Ayabe realized he’d ripped out an entire chunk of flesh, left a _hole_ that he was mouthing around in.

The whole lower half of his face is drenched in red when he finally pulls back. His tongue idly runs across his lips, gathering it up, slipping it into his mouth.

“I don’t know what is about you, Ayabe-chan.” His voice is so level. He might as well be talking to him at work, reminding him to get his fucking paperwork in on time. “You’re certainly not beautiful. Cute, maybe . . . in a vague kind of way. Though that nose has always bothered me. So crooked. Did someone break it?”

Ayabe doesn’t think he could answer even if he wanted to. Maybe it’s the physical damage to his neck that’s keeping his voice locked down inside him—not just the open gaping wound but the bruises and the swelling from where Kuroiwa had first wrapped his hands around it, with no warning at all, and broken his wrist when he’d tried to fight back. Though Ayabe had been blindsided because, yeah, Kuroiwa had always been a disgustingly perfect son of a bitch, but he’d never actually thought _so_ ridiculously little of him to assume he’d follow him halfway home and just attack him out of nowhere.

Rape him.

“ _Well_?” Kuroiwa rolls his hips, and his knot pulls against the raw rim of Ayabe’s hole.

It hurts but still Ayabe can’t manage to say anything. Maybe, more than even all the damage, his silence is because he can’t really catch his breath at the understanding that he’s _bound_ to this man now, until one of them is dead.

Kuroiwa tsks. Then Ayabe’s head is snapping to the side so suddenly he doesn’t exactly know what’s happened until the stars clear from his vision and the pain recedes just enough to center on his nose.

“There,” Kuroiwa says, and slams his mouth down onto Ayabe’s, so hard that teeth clink and blood from his lips blooms in his mouth as Kuroiwa thrusts his tongue into it. Though Ayabe barely even registers it, what with that new throb in the middle of his face.

Kuroiwa eventually pulls back a little, pressing sticky kisses to the side of Ayabe’s lips and cheeks. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of anyone leaving a mark on you but me.”

No one ever broke his nose before. It was just naturally that way. Now he wishes he’d been able to get the words out, or at least shake his head.

Though actually, the only thing that wells up in his chest is a hysterical laugh that never really comes to be, because he’d always thought Kuroiwa was _so disgustingly straightlaced_. An arrogant alpha prick lording his easy perfection over all of his dirty little inferiors, even though most of them were so blinded by him they couldn’t help but simper back.

Apparently, Ayabe had been just as blind, spending all this time thinking he was so clever for not being taken in.

“I—” he finally, _finally_ manages to croak out, even though air itself is agonizing against the back of his throat and the throbbing veins and arteries running down the sides of his neck. “M’dying . . .”

“No, you’re not.” Kuroiwa smiles in a way that could seem kind, could seem _beautiful_ , if not for how empty it is. Why hadn’t Ayabe ever noticed that before, that there’s _utterly nothing there_? “You’re feeling lightheaded from blood loss but an omegan bonding gland lacks sufficient blood flow for you to die. I was also careful to avoid all your major arteries. Trust me, Ayabe-chan—I know how to kill you far more efficiently, if I wanted to. But I don’t. And that returns us to that same question—what is it about you? I’ve never had the urge to bond an omega before, and I’ve fucked far prettier ones than you.”

His knot has deflated just enough that he can start thrusting again, shallowly. Ayabe clenches his fingers in the sheets and wonders just how many more times the fucker can go. This is ridiculous, even for an alpha.

“You’re lazy, incompetent . . . worthless apart from what I had planned for you . . . You’re lucky I wanted you. Otherwise you’d be rotting in jail right now.”

Sounds like paradise. At least he’d eventually get out—he probably wouldn’t have even gone to that tough of a joint, being an omega up on nonviolent corruption charges.

“And they would’ve executed you,” Kuroiwa continues then, like he’d read his fucking thoughts. (Maybe he did, Ayabe thinks in full-blooming hysteria. Maybe it’s some side effect of their new _bond_ , unnatural but what _isn’t_ about Kuroiwa?)

Previously he’d hammered his prostate, but this time Kuroiwa angles up and slams again and again into his cervix. It brings an internal stabbing pain, rather than involuntary pleasure, but Ayabe’s not sure which one he hates more.

“Nobody looks very kindly on violent omegas, as you know. What kind of freak would they think you are, stabbing out all those eyes? They’d _hang_ you.”

His hands caress Ayabe’s neck, slowly tightening-tightening- _tightening_ , and as he looks up in Kuroiwa’s eyes, fathomless black pits emptier than any of those yakuzas’ gaping sockets, it all clicks together. It’s almost _funny_ that this son of a bitch had gone to all of those crime scenes, investigated his own fucking handiwork.

But Ayabe passes out before he can work up a laugh.

He does wake back up, surprisingly. (Disappointingly?)

And while he’s filthy and sweaty and cum is gushing out of his hole down his thighs, at least Kuroiwa isn’t inside or on top of him anymore. One hand is still on his neck, trailing the pads of his fingers across bruises, but he’s standing beside the bed, staring down at him.

“I guess it’s that I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone killing you but me,” he murmurs. “But you’re mine now. My omega. I’ll take care of you.” A finger threatens to dip into the bite, pulling away after a second of teasing the edge.

Kuroiwa licks the blood off his hand and smiles.

Once he finally does leave, with a promise to come back soon, Ayabe knows he should pull himself up, however much it hurts, and try to find some way to escape from this room. Even though he doubts he’ll find one.

But another part of him, as he raises a shaking hand to the side of his neck where the blood flow is finally slowing, wonders why he should even bother.

**Author's Note:**

> Considering I'm largely only writing sadistic rape recently, I think I'm going through a dark time. Oh well.
> 
> The story's named after the song of the same name by Nicole Dollanganger.


End file.
